


Light in the Hallway

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [66]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 19:05:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12087426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: Inspired by Light in the Hallway by Pentatonix, requested by rynnwolfe via tumblr!





	1. Bim

Bim wakes up screaming.

He scrabbles for the blankets covering him, trying to grab something, anything. Something to tell him he’s not fading, anything to tell him he’s still alive. 

Wilford reaches Bim’s room first, knife gleaming in his hand, still half asleep. In the semi-darkness, he sees Bim shaking in bed, sitting up, huddled in blankets.

“Bim? Are you–”  


“Get out,” comes the choked-out growl, and Wilford figures that he’s not the best person to deal with this right now.   


He slips out, hearing Bim go back to sobbing, and feels a wave of something very close to guilt wash over him. Wilford knows that he’s not the most _delicate_ of the Egos, and certainly one of the most bombastic ones. Sometimes too bombastic. Sometimes he regrets it. 

* * *

Google_G brushes hurriedly past Wilford, coming to investigate. When he knocks on Bim’s door and, hearing no response, opens it, his flashlight illuminates Bim’s puffy-eyed face and dully glowing, dark purple splotches across the walls. 

“Are you o–”  


“I’m _fine.”_

And even Google_G knows that the tone of Bim’s voice is an octave too deep for him to be telling the truth, so he takes a step farther in, dimming his light. “Bim,” he says, voice hushed, “it is okay.”

Bim takes a moment to consider whether or not he should throw Google_G out, but his lip trembles and suddenly he’s sobbing into the thin fabric of the robot’s shirt without restraint.

Google_G pats him on the back, comforting, but at a loss for words. He understands, on a conceptual level, what Bim’s going through, but he could never relate to him the way the others could. He wasn’t like Wilford, who failed to understand, but he was only a robot, after all.

* * *

Dr. Iplier hurries in just after Google_G does, and Wilford comes in awkwardly after him. The Doctor always knew just what to say, and even _he_ could be grateful for that. 

Dr. Iplier kneels before Bim, curled in his blankets, clinging to Google_G. His fingers are curled in Google_G’s shirt, and the robot looks awkwardly at the Doctor. 

“Bim? Bim, look at me.” His voice is barely above a whisper, hands folded in perfect bedside manner. 

Bim turns to face him, still shaking a little. “’Mm okay, Doc,” he says, and a part of him means it. He’s back under control, breathing steady. His hands still shake, and his heart still hurts, but he’s almost afraid to be so vulnerable again. Carefully, he untangles himself from Google_G with a muttered apology for the tear stains on his shirt, looks at Dr. Iplier, forces a smile. “I’m okay, really.”  


“You’re not going to fade, Bim,” Dr. Iplier says, willing it to be true. “Not while we’re all here with you.”

Bim swallows hard, looking into his lap. “I– I… It’s just the dark, Doc. It’s easier to believe.”

As he speaks, a light flicks on outside, in the hallway. 

Dr. Iplier glances at Google_G in surprise, greeted by a blank stare, then back to Bim. “Would having that light on be okay?” 

_Will **you** be okay?_ goes unspoken, but Bim nods anyway. 

* * *

As the door closes behind Wilford, Dark steps out of the shadows, listening quietly. 

_So count your blessings every day…_

As soon as he snaps the light in the hallway on, he’s walking back to his own room, silent in his socks on the carpeted floor. 

_It makes the monsters go away…_

Dark slips into bed, exhausted from the day, exhausted from waking up to the screaming, hitting him like a jolt of ice in his veins. 

_And everything will be okay…  
_

He pulls the covers back over himself, the room still, silent, cold. 

_You are not alone…  
_

He envies them, in a way. It doesn’t eat him alive like it does Wilford, but he sees them all together and can’t help but know that he’s not welcome. 

_You are right at home…_

But they’re all together, and for now, that’s welcome enough for Dark. He turns over in bed, creaking, and sighs. The light in the hallway flickers gently. 

_Goodnight, goodnight._


	2. The Host

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I tagged that last fic with some pretty brutal tags. #unknown to the rest of them #host is lying awake in his own room #fist stuffed in his mouth to stop himself from screaming #listening to them all run to bim's aid #and no one knows that the host is hurting #and no one cares.

It’s Google_G who hears it, walking past the Host’s door. 

Muffled sobbing, but not muffled enough to be undetectable by his microphone and processors. 

For once, he’s glad to be a robot. 

He pauses on his way back to his room, the Doctor now talking Bim to sleep. Google_G flicks his light on before knocking gently, listening for any change in the room. 

If anything, the sobbing gets louder. 

Google_G cracks the door open, slowly. The Host might be one of the less approachable Egos, but on this night… well, it couldn’t hurt to check up on him. 

“Host?” Google_G whispers, everything about the situation ringing alarms in his head.   


An answering mumble, somewhere deeper in the room. 

He moves closer, chest light illuminating stacks of books, stray papers covered in angry scribbles, spilled puddles of ink, bloodied bandages. He tries again. “Host?”

Another mumble, and Google_G sees him, kneeling on his mattress, dark streaks of blood shining against his cheeks. 

“Google.” The Hosts voice is sharp, but wavering.   


“Host,” Google_G says, voice low, gentle. “Are you all right?”  


A pause, the Host’s shoulders straining at his nightshirt. 

A pause, and the Host sniffles. “No,” he whispers. 

“Can I… help?”  


“No.”  


Google_G beeps in confusion, softly, and begins to back away.

“The Host would… I would like it if you’d stay.”  


Google_G pauses, awkward, and watches the Host curl himself into a tight ball, painful, like a clenched fist. A beat, and Google_G sat with the creaking of bedsprings, light dimmed to almost nothing. 

The Host’s fingers find the hem of his jeans, and he ran his fingers over the rough fabric. It’s grounding– he can almost count the stitches. 

Google_G stays there until the Host stills, breathing once again soft and slow. He stays until the Host has shifted himself off of his shoulder and onto his own pillow, and Google_G tucks the covers over him. He stays until the sun comes up, just to make sure that he doesn’t wake again. He stays until light shines through the window, and the Host wakes up to the sound of Google_G’s battery dying out. 


End file.
